Foretold by the Stars
by Tavias
Summary: Otherworldly hunters invade a dying Gaia in search of a boy who is foretold to be their destruction. They want him dead. Others want the powers that he possesses for their own personal agenda. And one in particular just wants...him. AU Cloud/Sephiroth
1. Chapter 1

The temple's sputtering torches shed lurid light on the high priest's grim face as he bent to slit the sacrifice's throat. The sleek white stag writhed on the gem-encrusted black alter, its slender legs thrashing as its life drained out in a scarlet stream. Its grey eyes closed, and its head drooped. Empress Jenova contemplated the many such boring rituals she had been forced to endure over the years, hoping this one would be more interesting. Usually the rites culminated in a sing-song ritual about the might of the empire and its prosperous future.

The priest glanced at his audience of nobility before he sliced open the stag's belly with a deft motion. Red and blue entrails spilt out, and he thrust his hands into the bloody mess and spread it on the sacrificial slab, bending closer to study the offal. Several minutes passed before he straightened, vermillion eyes glittering with triumph.

"He has come. He has been born on Gaia." He raised his hands, the wide sleeves of his crimson and gold robe sliding back to reveal withered arms, and shouted, "He must die! His destiny must not be fulfilled! He must not stop the Great One. He is our savior! He comes soon, to aid us in our fight against those who would destroy us!"

Jenova stepped forward as he lowered his arms. "What does he look like?"

The priest swallowed nervously. "He is the Golden Child, Empress. Something about him must be gold. His hair, eyes, or skin perhaps..."

"So you don't know. How will we find one miserable boy on this Gaia? We don't even know where the planet is!" Her voice rose.

The priest met her gaze, his scaly crest rising a little, indicating irritation. "I know not. I have done my duty and given warning of the coming danger. You'll find a way, Empress. That's why you were born as our ruler at this time of danger. You've been chosen to stop him, and you will."

Jenova scoffed and smiled. "Yes, I'll find him, and he'll die. Your ranting cannot stop the wheels of destiny, but I can. All you can do is fondle the guts of dead animals and prophesize, but I'll ensure we rule the galaxy," she leant closer, her long silver hair veiling the menacing magenta glow of her catlike eyes, "You had better be right. If he's not on that wretched planet, it will be your blood on this alter next. Be quite sure before you send me on a fool's errand."

The priest licked his lips, revealing a glimpse of pointed teeth. "I am certain, Empress."

Jenova cast her gaze over the bevy of loyal subjects gathered within the temple's blood-red walls adorned with gold inlaid carvings of grotesque gods and demigods. The torches' green-shot flames fluttered and dipped, sending monstrous shadows across strained faces. Thick, oily smoke gathered in the roof's grimy carvings, adding to the planet's already foul, ammonia-sulphur atmosphere.

"Then we will find this Gaia, and kill the Golden Child," she proclaimed.

* * *

Cloud woke with a start, as one who sleeps lightly does. Sitting up, he rubbed his face and glanced around, then yawned, squinting at the red, bloated sun on the horizon. Thick, sooty clouds almost obscured it, dimming its glory to a weak gleam beyond the polluted atmosphere. The distant muttering and shuffling of hundreds of human beings and the pungent smell of unwashed bodies and excrement wafted to him on the chill morning breeze.

Throwing off his ragged blanket, he stood up and stretched, ridding himself of the kinks acquired from sleeping curled up. He scanned the area, on the lookout for roving ShinRa patrols. Ruined buildings huddled in groups, surrounded by the rubble of those ShinRa's troops had blasted through in the days of the rebellion had destroyed. Only the hardiest weeds struggled to grow in the debris, their yellow leaves blotched with brown. Most of the remaining trees were dead, but a few bore sickly, withered foliage. Rusted and burnt-out cars clogged fragmented streets and cluttered curbs.

Cloud's gaze drifted to the feeding station housed in an ugly building at the edge of the shantytown. Hundreds of thin, filthy people stood around it in a never-ending fight for survival. Their only ambition was to reach the food dispenser and push their battered tin plate under it to receive a meager helping of sludge-like food. Then the crowd pushed them to the back, sometimes stealing their share along the way. More often, they gulped it down, growling at the would-be thieves. They would then find a warm hollow or deserted building to sleep in, curled up in the ragged blankets that they carried. Those who failed to reach the front often enough grew too weak to ever make it, and died where they stood.

Once a day, a meat wagon came to collect the dead and deliver the next food supply. ShinRa troops, using mag rods, cleared a path and dragged out the dead and dying and loaded them onto refrigerated trucks where they were hauled off to ShinRa's Science Department for gods only know what sort of abominable act. Some bodies remained to add to the stench, however. The people at the feeding stations made meals of the fallen. They had little choice. All the animals, wild and domestic, had long since been slaughtered to feed the starving millions, or eradicated by pollution or deforestation; the rest had been judged expendable and wiped out.

Cloud took whatever he could from whoever was vulnerable, mainly the despots' stores. The despots, remnants of the political and social elite, had retained their power and prosperity by taking control of the massive food stores ShinRa had hoarded over the decades.

Cloud was too proud to work for the despots. Those who did were virtually slaves, paid only in food and shelter. They served as constabularies and store guards, but for more unpleasant jobs, the despots had real slaves.

A fallen tree's roots formed the dry hollow in which he slept. Cloud had dug it deeper and filled it with dead bracken and leaves. The canopy of roots had protected him from most of the stinging, acidic dew that fell each morning.

Cloud looked around at the sound of footsteps, relaxing when he recognized his companion's familiar figure approach. The young boy of ten brushed some dirt from his fawn shirt and oversized brown leather jacket. Like his ragged suede pants—that only stayed up on his narrow waist with the help of tied twine laced through the belt loops—they had been scavenged from abandoned shops. Leather afforded protection from injury and rain, making it a material of choice, although difficult to find. Cloud's black leather trousers bore the scars of many violent encounters, as did the suede jacket he wore over a grey, sleeveless sweater. Their pseudo combat boots would last for years, unless the pollution ate through them.

Cloud was an unusual sixteen year old in a world where most were malnourished and weakened. Exercise and hunger had honed his lean, lithe physique, but his endurance and strength allowed him to stave off malnutrition. The soft angles of his porcelain face, piercing blue eyes and untamed hair the color of the sun's golden rays added to his angelic features.

"I'm hungry," Denzel announced.

"You're always hungry."

"That's because you don't feed me enough," the boy smirked.

Cloud simpered. "You eat more than I do."

"You're always hungry too," he shot back.

Cloud pulled a face and shrugged. Hunger was the driving force of their struggle for survival in a world gone mad. They had grown up in it, and knew its dangers well, which was perhaps the reason they had succeeded where so many had failed. They were the remnant of the last generation to survive, old enough to fend for themselves when they had been orphaned, but young enough to adapt.

"Come on. Let's go," he said.

Cloud led him down the hill past the sludge-eaters, secure in his advantage of youth and comparative health. The people watched them pass with envious eyes, some finding the energy to throw a few stones in their direction, all of which fell short. Cloud set the pace at a steady lope across the expanse of desolate, ruined suburbs towards the city.

Denzel hated the city, but they had to go into it for food. They always left as soon as they had supplies for a few days. They paused on the crest of a hill, but when Cloud started down it, Denzel stayed behind, forcing him to stop and look back.

"Couldn't we raid the country store again?" the young boy asked.

"We raided that last week. It'll be crawling with guards."

"I have a bad feeling today."

"It'll be alright. Come on."

Denzel glared at the distant cluster of shining towers that sprouted from the tumbled ruins of lesser buildings, crushed in the rebellion or fallen foul of pollution later. The decaying buildings formed a complex concrete jungle whose dangers included collapsing walls and crumbling sewers. Broken glass and twisted, rusted reinforcing litter the streets, where bands of hostile vagrants roamed, preying on anything that could not defend itself or run. Packs of giant rats infested the sewers in an army of disease-riddled vermin, providing food for the vagabonds, who counted themselves better than the sludge-eaters. The boy caught a glimpse of himself in a piece of broken glass as he passed, looking away quickly.

The harsh life and lack of food had taken its toll, giving him a gaunt, elfin look. His ocean-blue eyes burnt with hunger, and soot smudged his creamy skin. His mess of chestnut hair was more than a little grubby. His youth and stamina a target for depots. Cloud was a target as well. Despots had a licentious eye for the rare blue-eyed, golden-haired boy.

Only the despots' towers, which their slaves maintained with cannibalized parts from unused skyscrapers, remained intact. They clustered at the city center, known as The Mecca. A leaden grey sky hung above it like a dirty shroud, and black smoke belched from the reactors that provided electricity to the towers, fueling the filth. To Denzel, who'd take back the barren and dead countryside any day over this, the glittering buildings represented all that was evil in this world.

"We've been lucky until now, but one day our luck's going to run out."

Cloud turned and sighed at the boy's lack of optimism. "Do you want to starve? We have no choice. Come on, let's get this over with."

At the city's outskirts, they grew more cautious, dodging from building to building to avoid the patrols that were meant to keep the scavengers out. Dawdling guards outside a red-brick building gave away the site of a food store. The ruined top floors sprouted twisted girders, and rotting planks covered the windows. Crouched behind a crumbling wall, they watched the bored guards pace up and down with measured strides.

"That's the place," Cloud whispered. "Only two guards, and they're bored stiff. That place hasn't been raided for a while. It's perfect."

Years of fleeing store guards had given Cloud an unusual turn of speed. He could out-sprint the fastest guard, creating an effective diversion while Denzel stole food. The guards, knowing their boss would reward them for catching him, always vied for the prize. He had to keep them interested long enough for Denzel to do his part, then escape. Afterwards, he would meet him outside the city. Denzel patted his shoulder, and Cloud rose to his feet and strolled towards the store.

The guards shouted and drew their guns, and Cloud sprinted down the street, the men in pursuit. He ran across a junction and into the road beyond, his panting pursuers flagging after just three blocks. Slowing, he faked a limp to encourage them, and their yells of triumph rewarded him. Their occasional wild shots didn't faze him, since he knew they wanted him alive and preferably unharmed. They probably hoped to frighten him into stopping, if he thought they would shoot him if he continued to flee. He loped on for another block before crossing a vacant lot into the next street. By the time the guards walked back to the store, Denzel would be long gone. He entered a more rundown area inhabited by a few thin, dirty people so scared they even hid from each other.

The guards followed, shouting in frustration, and he glanced back as he rounded the corner. Something slammed into his stomach, and he rebounded and sprawled. Gasping, he struggled to rise, staring at the sleek, black car that blocked his path. The door opened with a faint wheeze, and a gush of conditioned coolness washed over him, scented with an exotic fragrance. A despot stepped out, his black robe covering all but his face. Cloud scrambled to his knees, shaking his head to clear the spots from his eyes, broken glass slicing into his hands. He climbed to his feet and backed away just before the robed man came close enough to grab him.

The man raised a hand. "Wait! Don't be afraid. I won't hurt you," Cloud retreated, and the man followed, his hand extended in a parody of friendship, his tone soothing. "It's okay. I only want to help you. You're hurt."

Cloud knew a despot would never help him. His beady brown eyes, set close together in a thin face with a bony nose and a rat-trap mouth, roved over him in a way that made his skin crawl.

Spinning on his heel, he raced down the street, hoping to put a good distance between himself and the despot before he gave chase. He cursed, then the car's soft whine was in pursuit, catching up fast. Cloud couldn't outrun the car, and there was nowhere to hide. He dodged burnt-out car wrecks and avoided warped joists and rubble. The shock of his fall had sapped his strength; his lungs labored and his legs grew weaker with every stride. The despot followed, waiting for him to tire while he called his men.

A doorway ahead yawned dark and forbidding, but he ran through it and stopped. The despot would not dare to follow him into such a dangerous area, even though he was armed, since it was a perfect place for an ambush.

Cloud listened for the car, gasping in the damp, musty gloom. The despot could wait all day, and would send his men in after him when they arrived. Walking further in, he stumbled over garbage, startling a few rats. The building reeked of decay, and pollution ate away at its crumbling walls. Icy fingers of fear marched up and down his spine, but he forced himself to go on. An oblong of light beckoned ahead, and he quickened his pace.

The door led into an empty lot surrounded by apartment blocks, some of which had partially collapsed, filling the area with broken bricks, convoluted steel and glass. Sprinting across it, he entered the building on the far side and rested in the rank darkness, contemplating the dangers that still faced him. To reach the meeting place, he would have to run the gauntlet of hazards with which this ruined world was rife. At least he knew what they were, and how to avoid them.

Approaching the next doorway, he scanned the street, a manhole cover flew off with a clang and a ragged figure wriggled out and sprinted for a doorway. Seconds later, three more scruffy men emerged and surveyed the street before setting off down the alley. The group had been cooking rat and vanished, leaving their fire.

Cloud waited for the men to return. They had to be scavengers or desperate drifters banded together to hunt others. After several minutes, the tramps re-emerged and fought over who would eat the rat. Still, he waited, all his senses on alert. A movement at the end of the street caught his eye, as four police cars pulled in and moved toward him. The vagrants retreated into the building behind them.

The despot must have ordered the police to patrol this block in search of him. He found a room with a single dirty window and settled down to wait, piling damp cardboard boxes into a makeshift seat. Periodically he rose to peer out of the door, but the police still patrolled. His stomach rumbled, and he thought of Denzel, by now enjoying a meal, and smiled. Anything that Cloud could do to give a little bit of happiness and contentment to the boy, if only for a little while, was worth it.

Hours had passed and the street was almost deserted, only the tramps were back at their fire, haggling over another rat. After waiting several more minutes to see if anyone else appeared, Cloud left the doorway and trotted down the refuse-strewn street, his eyes darting into the dark alleys and doorways.

The hoboes paused to regard him with glinting eyes, and he tried to act as confident as an armed ShinRa infantryman. His ploy seemed to work, for they returned to fighting over the rat as he hurried away. He stayed away from buildings, which often harbored drifters and scavengers lying in ambush. Heading toward the suburbs, he kept his pace to a steady jog that ate up the distance. As he approached the outskirts, the ruins of the office blocks gave way to demolished houses. Far fewer human vermin hid here. Most congregated around the city center, where rats were more numerous, since the rats lived on the food in the despots' stores. He stayed in the middle of a road, trusting his ability to run more than the possibility of hiding from a threat, which could get him cornered. He looked up in alarm as a shadow suddenly fell on him, then stopped in amazement.

A giant, blood-red craft hovered about twenty meters above him, light shining from portals along its edge. More lights flickered across its underside in random patterns, and it hung there if on invisible strings. The hairs on the back of his neck rose, sending chills down his spine. For a moment surprise kept him frozen, then he edged towards the side of the road, where the houses safety beckoned. Vagabonds emerged from the houses to point, shout and stare, but Cloud backed closer to the derelict buildings, his eyes fixed on the ship.

The sudden urge to run overwhelmed him, and he turned and sprinted for the nearest house. As he ran through the doorway, crimson fire erupted outside. The explosion blew him off his feet, and he threw out his hands to break his fall. Glass imploded from the few intact windows, whizzing past him in a shower of razor-sharp shards. His jacket protected him from most of it, but a few splinters stabbed the back of his legs. He hit the ground with a muffled _oomph_ , raising a cloud of white dust. Lights danced in his eyes as he inhaled the dust, coughing.

The explosion's rumble died away, leaving his ears ringing, and he raised his head and shook splinters from his hair, glancing back. The craft descended, and the vagrants had prudently vanished. Climbing to his feet, Cloud staggered deeper into the house, his mind whirling with stunned confusion. The dwelling offered doubtful protection, its walls mottled with mold and peeling paint, the ceiling sagging under the weight of wet rot from the upper floor.

His leg wounds burned as he limped through another door, entering a smaller room. Broken furniture, smashed crockery and shredded papers littered the filthy, rotten carpet. Excrement and graffiti smeared the walls, and ripped curtains hung in shreds around empty windows. Cloud flattened himself to the wall when a shadow passed the window, then flung himself down as explosions ripped through the house. Red fire blazed in a brilliant barrage outside. The bolts threw up clods of earth, and the walls cracked.

Bricks and mortar would not hold up against the fiery fusillade for long. Scrambling to his hands and knees, he crawled towards another door. The house shook and rattled as what could only be lasers pounded it, chunks of brick and cement flying into the rooms smashing on the floor. An outer wall fell with a grating rumble, and dust and wood chips, mixed with cement fragments, rained down from the upper story. The deafening explosions were almost constant, and the house was collapsing around him.

Crawling through the door, he entered a hallway. A flight of stairs led to an upper floor ablaze with laser fire, the roof cinders. Smoke billowed downwards, and ash and burning wood fell from above. The thickening haze almost obscured a door under the stairs. Quickening his crawl, he reached it and turned the handle, praying it was unlocked. It swung open, catching him off balance, and he fell into pitch darkness. His hand hit steps and his momentum sent him rolling down them, scraping his already cut-up palms and banging his head. Cloud reached the bottom bruised and winded, and lay gasping for a minute before crawling deeper into the darkness.

Above, the house's destruction continued. The earth shook as laser bolts pounded the building to rubble. The explosions all but drowned out the roar of flames and the bangs and crashes as walls collapsed, bricks falling with dry, grating thuds. The tinkle of smashing glass mingled with the creak of tortured wood. The house groaned and roared as it was destroyed. Reaching a wall, Cloud sat with his back pressed to it and stared up at the stream of light at the top of the stairs.

Flames licked at the wooden frame. Soon they would travel down the stairs and fill the room with smoke. Cloud covered his face, coughing as the fumes thickened, sweating beading his face and trickling inside his clothing.

A tremendous crash made him jump as the door at the top of the stairs slammed shut, hit by a falling beam or wall, and he was plunged into blackness. The door's violent closure snuffed out the flames that licked at its frame, sealing him off from the burning house until the fire ate through the door.

Silence clamped down, broken only by the inferno's crackle. Burning wood made little mewling sounds, and the occasional crash as a burning timber collapsed, or the chime of glass shattering in the heat, made him start.

Why would an alien ship try to kill an insignificant human? There was no doubt in Cloud's mind that he had been the target. The bums would have been far easier to kill. He wiped sweat off his face with grimy hands, realizing, from the sting of his palms, that they were raw. Would these hostile aliens leave, or would they wait for the destruction to die down and search the rubble for his corpse? Had it been sport, choosing a target and trying to kill it for fun? Plenty of UFO's had been seen since mankind's downfall, observing, and perhaps recording Gaia's demise. They had kept their distance, however, never making contact in spite of humanity's attempts to communicate with them.

Smoke stung his windpipe and made his eyes water. The door at the top of the stairs creaked, its outer surface on fire. Cloud forced himself to wait in the suffocating darkness, fighting a strong urge to search for light and air. The aliens might think he was dead, or they could be waiting outside to make sure, and if he revealed himself now, they would hunt him down again.

Rats ran about, their claws scratching on the concrete floor. One ran over his leg, and he shuddered, jerking away. Their squeaking held a note of panic, so they must be trapped too, he surmised. The wall he was leaning against was damp and coated with slimy mold, which soaked into his jacket, chilling his back. Flames appeared at the bottom of the door, throwing a little light down the steps. Cloud looked around. The rats glowing eyes met his gaze from a corner, where they seemed to be scurrying about, perhaps trying to chew their way out.

Cloud coughed again, and realized he had to get out before the fire consumed all the oxygen. Now that his eyes had adjusted, he could make out the faint outlines of boxes stacked against the walls, and an old-fashioned boiler in one corner. He tried to stand up, but stabbing pains in his legs made him grunt and sink back to explore the agonizing areas. Blood soaked the back of his pants, and his groping fingers touched a protruding shard of glass. He gritted his teeth, yanked it out and flung it away. Eyes watering and stinging, he continued to search, locating another, smaller shard. It was slippery and deeply embedded, and his finger failed to grip it at first. The pain that lanced up his leg when he touched it made his stomach clench, but he finally pulled it out, groaning and hunted for more. He pulled out three more, then sagged back, sick and dizzy.

The door burned, flames licking at the ceiling. Stifling fumes made it hard to breathe and the heat was almost unbearable. He climbed to his feet and hobbled along the wall, running his hands over it. His head swam. Flames crept down the stairs. His hands encountered a frame, and he examined it, finding a hatch set at an angle to the wall, which must open upwards. Stepping into the recess under it, Cloud set his shoulder against the trapdoor and heaved with all his strength. It creaked, the dry wood digging into him.

Again he pushed, his legs weakening. He was tempted to give up, lie down and surrender to the injustice of this cruel world he had struggled so hard to survive in all his life. With a strangled cry of defiance, he put the last of his strength into a final push. The hatch flew open as the rusted lock gave way, and he climbed out, inhaling huge gulps of fresh air.


	2. Chapter 2

Cloud lay panting on the withered grass for a minute, then sat up and wiped his streaming eyes.

The house smoldered under a column of black smoke, reduced to rubble and charred beams, and deep craters surrounded it. Whoever had attacked him had tried to ensure he would not survive. He scanned the sky for the scarlet ship, but it was nowhere to be seen. Nevertheless, he rose and moved into the shadow of the neighboring house, flopping down next to a wall.

Cloud recuperated until some strength seeped back into his limbs, then stood up, wincing. His leg wounds twinged with every step as he limped along the street, keeping a wary eye on the sky as well as the surrounding houses. He had given up wondering why an alien ship would want to kill him; it made no sense. Vagrants emerged from other houses to gape and point at the billowing ruin. Cloud hoped the aliens thought he was dead.

When he finally reached the meeting place, he stumbled into the grove of dead trees and collapsed. Denzel's absence brought on a fresh wave of anxiety. He hoped the boy was able to get away safely with a meal in his stomach. The thought of food gnawed at the blond. He then crawled to a large rock under which Denzel always stashed extra food, found a treasure trove of protein bars and wolfed down the chewy, peanut butter-flavored sustenance.

While he ate, he pondered his situation. Staying in one place was dangerous, even within the grove's concealment. Some scavengers had noses as keen as dogs. Denzel must have gone in search of him, and he hoped he returned before someone else found him. Fatigue made his limbs and eyelids leaden, and he curled up on a pile of leaves.

Late afternoon sunlight slanting between the dead trees woke Cloud. After eating more food bars, he examined his grazed, sooty palms, picking out a few splinters of glass. The risk of infection was high in such a polluted environment, so he stripped and washed in a stream that tumbled over a bed of rocks nearby. He emerged shivering and, after scrubbing his clothes, wrapped himself in the blankets he and Denzel kept stored in a hollow log and lit a fire.

The wounds in the back of his legs were easy enough to reach, and he removed several more splinters. By the time he was finished, twilight filled the grove with shadow, and he lay down by the fire for the night. At least he was safer in the country.

* * *

The sun's first rays woke Cloud, and he sat up as the events of the previous day flooded back, scanning the dirty, gray clouds for several minutes before he relaxed. Hoarfrost whitened the ground and rimmed the trees and bracken. The chilly air nipped at his nose and numbed his fingers and feet. His legs had stiffened, and the pain made him gasp as he dragged more wood from the dwindling pile and lighted a new fire. As soon as the tiny blaze took hold, he huddled close to it and almost thrust his hands into the flames to warm them. His breath steamed, and he clenched his jaw to prevent his teeth from chattering as he waited for the sun to warm the air.

By mid-morning his clothes were dry, and he dressed and ate a little food. He pondered the ship's attack again, trying to fathom the reason for the senseless assault. The more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that he would never figure it out. He sighed, remembering the dangers that had honed his reactions so keenly.

Cloud's parents had joined the revolution in 0006, when wages had been cut to food stamps only, and so many had lost their jobs. It had been madness, not a real rebellion. They had been killed in a riot when the troops had shot most of the crowd on ShinRa's orders. Massacring crowds reduced the overpopulation that ruined the economy and threatened dwindling food supplies, as well as curbing civil unrest. People had become a burden, and the army had been ordered to sacrifice the many for the sake of the few. Cloud and Denzel stumbled upon one another in the chaos and fled together to avoid the looters who came afterwards in search of food.

The erratic weather had wreaked havoc. Harvests had failed, floods had washed away entire crops, and drought hit other areas. Hail storms had caused terrible damage and freak winds, or wild fires had ruined what was left. Earthquakes had ravaged some countries, and the resulting famine and disease had wiped out entire populations. Crops that had survived became sickly and noxious to eat, their fruit turning to ash as soon as it hits the tongue, instantly toxifying the victim causing a gruesome and agonizing death. Millions starved. People had resorted to eating their pets, turned on each other and abandoned their children to die in the streets. Mankind had turned to the last remaining food source and hunted aquatic life to extinction, wiping out fish stocks.

It had been a time of turmoil and terror. People had killed randomly, burnt and looted in their desperate search for food. ShinRa had ordered the army to keep order and reduce the population, but many infantrymen and SOLDIERs had rebelled. The putrid stench of decaying or burning flesh had filled the air, and hospitals had become charnel houses. All the while, the world was dying. Cloud had looked after Denzel since then. They had run and hidden, trusting no one, two frightened children in a world gone mad.

Cloud frowned, becoming alert as a prickle of unease made the hairs on his nape rise. Years of being hunted had honed his survival instincts, and he never ignored his sixth sense. A brilliant green glow appeared about ten meters away, forcing him to squint. In an instant it faded, and a man dressed in black with long, flowing silver hair stood there.

Cloud stared at him, unable to breathe, frozen with shock. If he had moved he would have run, and he sensed his scrutiny as he groped for and found a fist-sized rock. The stranger wore what appeared to be a massively long sword strapped to his hip. The stone dug into his palm, which began to sting with sweat. His lungs burnt for air, forcing him to breathe again. The green light shrouded the stranger once more, and when it faded, he was gone.

Cloud stared at the spot where the man had stood, then rose and limped over to examine it. Two boot prints proved he had not been hallucinating, and he shivered, glancing at the sky. Unease made him retreat to his fire and build it into a blaze. His eyes darted around, vigilant for any sign of danger.

* * *

Sephiroth studied the image from the VR camera he had ordered to follow the boy. The wafer-thin crystal screen displayed a perfect picture, almost as if he was still there with him, just a few meters away. He recalled his amazement when he had first caught sight of him. Surprise had kept him rooted to the spot for several minutes, ignoring his urgent queries. He still thought it amazing to find such a creature on this dying, polluted world, where half the people had degenerated to shambling monsters and the other half were starved and diseased.

Although he had been sent to find him, he had not been prepared for his first encounter, and still marveled at it. The sharp intelligence in the boy's eyes had almost startled him. They had been filled with suspicion and fear, and he had exuded a kind of leashed savagery, the alertness of a wild animal mixed with the rational response of a civilized being.

The boy was the one. Sephiroth was more certain of it than he had ever been of anything. He sat behind his desk in the fortified mountain refuge he and the rest of the absconders resided and stroked the book on it. Soft leather bound it, and gold trimmed its edges and depicted the name inscribed on the cover.

The Soterus, set down thousands of years ago, contained all the teachings and prophesies that had guided the Cetran culture throughout the ages. This particular copy was, of course, a symbolic token. It was given to him by Professor Gast before the man died of fatal gunshot wounds inflicted upon him by the debauched Head of ShinRa's Science Department. It signified the sacred duty imposed upon him and his SOLDIERs—a constant reminder of their objective and why they deserted ShinRa to retain their honor. Over the centuries, many prophesies had come true, affirming the wisdom of the ancient seers who foretold them.

Now, a grave and momentous prophecy was about to unfold, which could change the course of not only Gaia, but the entire universe. He opened the book to the marked page and read the short passage that had change the course of his own existence…

" _In the time of the junction of Perinus and Lodis, a dying world awaits within the void. Here will be found the Golden Child, pure of spirit and flesh, he who must be saved, so he may save the heavens and its children..."_

That time had come.

Sephiroth was sure this boy was the Golden Child of whom the prophecy spoke. All the other people were sick, dying or depraved, yet he was…perfect.

On the screen beside him, the boy peered around as if he sensed the VR-cam, even though he couldn't see it. Remarkable. His harsh existence must have honed his senses to the point where he could detect the slight static discharge of the VR-cam's shield. The cam employed a fluctuating stress shield that warped the light around it, effectively making it invisible to the naked eye, and it floated high above him on a small anti-gravity coil.

Touching the crystal, he called the laboratory. Professor Chapel's mild, cultured face appeared on another screen, looking, as he always did, as if he had just been pulled through a hedge backwards, his thinning grey hair standing out in a wild halo. Chapel was one of the handful of ShinRa scientists that deserted with Sephiroth and the others, claiming their revulsion of ShinRa's diplomacies. Yet, the ex-General still kept a watchful eye on the professor and his staff, his own abhorrence of scientists in particular kept him heedful and wary of anyone wearing a white coat.

Sephiroth nodded at the screen. "Professor Chapel, have you the results of the air samples you took?"

Chapel's eyes sparkled. This was his favorite subject. "Why yes, Sephiroth. There's less oxygen than is desirable, and the pollution factor is increasing. Methane, ammonia, carbon dioxide and carbon monoxide gases are in far higher concentrations than is good for a person. The ozone layer is breaking up rapidly now, and the ultra-violet and infrared radiation is getting worse."

"Projection, Professor?"

The professor harrumphed. "Ah, well, not good. The increased radiation is taking a toll. Most suffer from malignant cancers, apart from a few who have avoided direct sunlight, and some have mutated beyond all recognition. However, it's killing off the vegetation now, and once that goes, the oxygen level will become too low to support life. The polar caps are melting, causing the seas to rise, and of course, the increase in temperature is causing more water to evaporate into the atmosphere to form clouds, which are trapping still more heat—"

"What will happen to the people who continue to be exposed?"

The professor shot him an injured look. "Well, those who don't die from the solar radiation will die of suffocation or starvation. They are going to die, that's certain. Gaia is dying. Soon it'll be just a hostile planet with a corrosive methane-ammonia atmosphere, and nothing will survive. The temperature will continue to rise until the core expands and volcanoes erupt, spewing molten lava over the surface. That will be dry, of course, as all the seas will have evaporated—"

"How long, Professor?"

The mild-featured man looked vexed at the constant interruptions. "Hard to say, exactly. Maybe three or four years before the people are gone, then the clouds will continue to thicken—"

"Thank you, Professor."

Sephiroth broke the connection with a shake of his head. Like most elderly, over-educated men, Chapel loved to extol his subject, and if not kept under control could produce a monologue that would consume hours of precious time in educational, but unproductive discourse.

On the VR screen, the boy fed his fire, still watching the countryside and sky. Sephiroth almost wondered if he possessed unnaturally enhanced senses, for he seemed unusually astute. There was definitely more to this boy. Had he somehow been one of the Science Department's experiments that, by the grace of the gods, escaped and has been able to elude them ever since?

The silver-haired man sat back, gently touching the screen with black, leather-clad fingertips, his jade eyes connecting with the infinite depths of blue staring back at him.


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who has shown interest in this story. To be honest, after a weekend of watching the Mad Max trilogy and a Trancers marathon, a few plot bunnies started hopping around in my head, and so far, this is the result. We'll see where it goes...**

* * *

Cloud mulled over the strange events of the past two days. It seemed unlikely that the man in black was connected to the scarlet ship. Also, why were they so interested in him? Were they doing this to other people too? At least the man had not seemed threatening. Cloud thought it odd when he felt a small smile touch his lips at the thought of the deific-looking man. A guardian angel, perhaps? The blond shook the nonsense from his lips and head and tossed them to the flickering flames of the fire.

The feeling that he was being watched stayed with him. He spent another night huddled beside the fire, but the next day the food and firewood ran out. When the fire died and his stomach rumbled, he knew he had to go back into the city.

Leaving his warm nest took a great deal of willpower. He stuffed the blankets back into the hollow log and forced himself to his feet, grimaced and bit his lip to stifle his groans. His first few steps were so excruciating, he nearly returned to his camp, unable to face the long walk. He refused to lie there and starve, however, so he pressed on, ignoring the agony that shot up his legs with every stride. As he walked, his muscles loosened, allowing him to move a little more freely, but fresh blood dampened his pants. He stumbled often, unable to hide the dangerous weakness that, if seen by a gang of drifters or another scavenger, might lead to disaster.

Cloud reached the outer city at midday, and limped between the dingy, tumbled-down buildings. Rats scampered, squeaking, from piles of refuse, and he hurried past an occasional corpse, mutilated, diseased or skeletal. Many vile stenches abused his nose, varying only in their strength and degree of foulness. Skinny, hollow-eyed people dodged into ruins at his approach, their eyes gleaming from the shadows as he passed. He rested in an empty building for a few minutes to regain some strength and ease his throbbing legs, the pain making him queasy.

As he was about to leave, Cloud froze at the faint sound of shuffling feet. The tread was too heavy for vagabonds, and it seemed to come from all around, including deeper within the building. He sniffed the air, detecting a revolting pong that had not been there moments before. Galvanized, he bolted, only to stop just outside the door.

About twenty mutants formed a semi-circle around him, lumbering closer. Cloud glanced back as another filled the doorway. They stood over two meters tall, their arms reaching their knees. Matted hair covered some, and slack lips revealed only long, yellow teeth. Others were more human, but grossly deformed, and wore only a few dirty rags. One had elephant-like ears and hands that looked more like clubs. Another had a single eye and nostril, while the mutant beside him had a dog-like muzzle and long canines. Some had almost normal faces, but half-animal bodies with claws, spines or scales. Most of them had cancerous growths and ulcers that oozed pus. Their stench made bile rise to his throat.

Some were genetic mutants, others were failed science experiments let loose unto the population to assist in the demise of the undesirables. These were angry, suffering survivors who killed for food and fun, their minds as twisted as their bodies. Their size and well-fed appearance came from their cannibalistic lifestyle, and Cloud was on the carte du jour.

The blond looked around frantically for a weapon, but weapons of any sort were hard to come by, due to the demand for them. Desperate, he tugged at a reinforcing rod protruding from some rubble, but it was firmly lodged and all he did was scrape his raw palms on its rusty surface. The approaching mutants licked their lips, drooling in anticipation.

Cloud picked up a brick and hurled it at one, but it bounced off the creature's forehead with no noticeable effect. Panic squeezed his heart in an icy grip as he searched for a way out, but the mutants were shoulder to shoulder, closing the circle. His stomach threatened to launch its meager contents up his throat. Rancid breath mixed with unwashed, hairy bodies, plus the decaying blood of past victims that clung to their fur, created a stench unrivaled in singular vileness.

Terror at its peak, Cloud chucked brick after brick at the encroaching mutants, following each with a stream of useless abuse. His aim was good, but the bricks bounced off the mutant's thick skulls without making them blink. Some leered and growled, others quickened their steps and raised their arms.

A low-pitched hum pulsed the air. A pillar of brilliant flame impaled the mutant in front of him, which exploded. Blood and entrails splattered its companions, making them recoil. The inferno burned a molten spot in the ground before it cut-off and dispelled, then impaled another mutant. The powerful vibration made his teeth ache, and intense heat scorched Cloud as mutant after mutant died, incinerated by a supernatural firestorm.

"Interesting," a calm, velvet voice practically purred, studying the blond boy with narrowed, cyan eyes. "Sephiroth was quite right about you," those eyes now roving Cloud up and down salaciously, "how lucky I am to be the first to make your _proper_ acquaintance." The crimson-clad man belonging to said voice looked up to the sky and winked, a smug expression on his face.

* * *

Sephiroth pressed his lips together in annoyance as he watched what was unfolding upon the screen in front of him, but he was too disciplined to lose his temper over Genesis' recklessness and apparent jab. Yet, he couldn't help but feel a tad bit envious that the crimson SOLDIER was there saving the blond instead of him.

* * *

Cloud quickly turned, almost hitting the ground as he staggered, his voice failing him as he watched in panicked awe as the man ran a hand along the claret blade of his magnificent sword, igniting sorcerous flames along its length. Cloud blinked and the man was gone, until his attention was drawn to the air. A massive black wing unleashed itself from the man's back as he hovered above the remaining horde of mutants, pummeling a cascade of flaming missiles at the creatures. The crimson warrior then dove in the flames' wake, and started hacking and slashing at the few creatures who had survived the onslaught of fire.

Cloud crouched and raised his arms to ward off the searing, cerise brilliance that wiped out what remained of the abominations. Some died before they could make a sound, and none had time to even turn and run.

When the last mutant was incinerated, the fire vanished, and so did the crimson warrior, leaving smoldering craters that glowed as fiery as the man who made them. Shredded entrails coated the rubble, and chunks of cooked meat clung to the crumbling wall behind him. Cloud lowered his hands, poised to flee, but afraid to move in case he attracted the attention of whoever killed the mutants. He was fairly sure the man he just witnessed was associated with the man in black somehow. His mind struggled to make sense of it.

An alien ship had tried to kill him, now some unknown protector had saved him, or were they just toying with him? Perhaps they enjoyed his fear, and now waited for him to flee before killing him. Cloud glared at the sky, hating their power and elusiveness, determined not to give them the satisfaction of watching him run around in terror. His bravado drained away, and he stumbled from the scorched circle to limp down the street as fast as he could, intent on only getting away.

* * *

Sephiroth watched intently as the boy looked around and up, the VR-cam that brought his image to him also marked his position, enabling the infrared scanners to track his movements. It was programmed to keep the boy's image in its sight. The blond hobbled down the street, the cam following like a faithful dog. His limp concerned the ex-General, and the glistening stains on the backs of his pant legs indicated injuries he had only noticed when the boy had set out on his journey that morning. The possibility of infection added to his unease, making him toy with the idea of bringing him to the refuge.

Sephiroth could not explain why he had not done so yet, but something told him not to, in spite of the blond's injuries. The same instinct told him he was the Golden Child in the prophecy. Over the years, he had learned to trust his instincts, and this was probably the most significant mission he would ever perform. To his SOLDIERs that deserted ShinRa with him, he was still their General, he had no need to explain his actions, or lack of them, although Genesis had a tendency to think and act otherwise.

"You look like shit...um...Sir."

Sephiroth looked up from the screen and actually seemed surprised by Zack's observation, making the raven-haired SOLDIER chuckle. "No offense, but I'm not used to seeing a hair on your head out of place, or dark circles under your eyes blotching your flawless skin, Mr. Perfect. When's the last time you've got any decent sleep?"

Sephiroth straightened in his chair, realizing that he had been slouching, and adjusted his posture. "Six days. I've gone longer."

Zack shook his head as he approached the desk. "You're gonna go catatonic if you don't get some rest," he leaned over and his brows shot up when he witnessed the smoldering carnage left in the building the blond boy was limping away from. "Shit! Another attack!"

"Not exactly," Sephiroth's tone sullen.

Zack squinted his electric-blue eyes as he caught the sight of a few long, black feathers strewn over the scorched aftermath. "Genesis, going for the gold...uh...no pun intended."

Sephiroth smirked without humor, narrowing his eyes on the screen. "So it seems."

Since their desertion, the bond between Sephiroth and his SOLDIERs evolved into more than just a General and his officers. It became a band of brothers intent on fighting no longer for ShinRa and its deceit, but for their freedom and the freedom of the planet.

They played their roles as good little SOLDIERs, obeying orders that betrayed the innocent, throwing them to the wolves who gorged upon their carcasses. ShinRa's appetite only growing more rapacious as its gluttonous gut stretched and swelled.

Sephiroth knew what he was: a warrior and a weapon. He was as he was molded to be. He had done things in his life that most likely cursed him to damnation, and felt no shame...until now. That shame coupled with anger came from knowing he allowed himself to be used, just as he was commanded to use Genesis, Angeal, and Zack to do the unthinkable all in the name of power and corruption. Sephiroth loathed himself almost as much as the ones who had made him into this. He asked nothing from his SOLDIERs but their forgiveness and their trust in him that all would be set right.

Professor Gast, the only scientist that Sephiroth ever trusted, divulged may truths to the silver-haired man that had been hidden from him his entire life. Gast payed with his own when he revealed those secrets. Sephiroth's true origins, and the experiments that Hojo performed were all revealed. There was a part of Sephiroth that wished he had never been told the atrocities that made him what he was...a monster.

Whether mortal life, or the life of planet, ShinRa treated it like a plaything, stripping away its very soul, leaving it marred and stricken.

Growing up, Gast was the closest thing Sephiroth had to a father, the man took the time to actually talk to him and teach him things other than military rhetoric and sword techniques. Fantastic stories of the ancient Cetra, the creators of light and all life that was known upon the planet, had been some of the favorites that the scientist would share with Sephiroth as a child. One story in particular rapt him the most, always eager to hear the tale of the Golden Child and his destined journey to become the savior of the universe. As he grew older, he began to wonder if it was more than just a fairytale. That fantasy became a reality on his eighteenth birthday when Gast presented him with a replica of the Soterus. For years, Sephiroth read and studied the writings and prophecies foreseen by the Ancients, and as predicted, each one came true: his own birth, the symptoms of the planet's sickness and ShinRa being the disease, the rebellion of the people and the death that followed, his desertion and all those who followed him - all of it accurate and precise.

He realized then, that the stories Gast had been telling him were the scientist's way of preparing him for the dire role he would play in the most fateful foretoken of all.

* * *

Cloud built a fire, his leather jacket unable to cope with the bitter cold of night's approach. Although he huddled close to the flames, his back remaining chilly while his front cooked. His supply of combustible material dwindled rapidly, for cardboard burned quickly and wood was in short supply in the ruined department store he had chosen as a night camp. All the windows were smashed, allowing the icy breeze in.

Looters had long since taken any blankets or draperies that could be used for warmth, but his spot behind a counter in the center of the shop floor gave him cover whilst allowing him to flee if he was attacked. The storerooms and offices at the back of the store were tempting, owning door and therefore warmer, but they were potential traps if a gang of mutants or drifters sniffed him out.

Curling up, he strived to conserve his warmth as the fire died. His stomach rumbled, and he clenched his teeth to stop them from chattering, but his shivers grew more violent as the air cooled. Nevertheless, he closed his eyes and tried to sleep.

* * *

Sephiroth and Zack made their way to the command center of the refuge, watching the blond with growing concern.

"We gotta do something, Seph. The kid's too vulnerable out there," Zack turned to the trooper who monitored the weather conditions and informed him that the temperature was rapidly approaching the freezing point as the clouds dispersed at dusk, releasing the heat trapped under them. The planet's peculiar weather grew stranger every day, and the changing atmospheric conditions led to some odd aberrations, such as hail storms on a warm day or heat waves on a cold one.

The boy suffered from the cold, and Sephiroth considered the various ways in which he might be able to help him. He could have Genesis plant some provisions, like a blanket and some food, but, knowing the boy's suspicious nature, he probably wouldn't touch them. The same would apply with a small, portable heating unit, so the only real option was to bring him to the refuge.

Sephiroth turned to Zack, who waited nearby, an ear cocked for orders. "Contact Genesis. Have him cast a Sleep spell on the Golden Child."


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's Note: This chapter is shorter than desired, but the next will make up for that. Again, thanks for the lovely reviews and ever-growing interest.**

* * *

Sephiroth found himself watching the blond resting on the bed, Genesis successfully casting Sleep on the boy while he was curled up and already half-conscious next to a smoking stack of cardboard, the spell lasting more than long enough for the crimson SOLDIER to also cast a Cure spell to help heal the wounds on his legs until they could be properly taken care of once he got him to the refuge.

It was almost irritating, the way his eyes took on minds of their own, slowly sliding back to the blond every time he looked away. To be only a few feet from him rather than thousands of miles away viewing him from a screen had an unnerving, yet, beguiling effect on the silver-haired man. Obviously, the young man was handsome, his eyes the most vivid blue Sephrioth had ever seen. But, Mako exposure from the ruined reactors the boy lived around and had been exposed to could be playing a factor in that. Yet, the boy's hair was unmistakable - auric, untamed sendal that seemed to ethereally shimmer like gold dust in the fire's glow. The mark of the Golden Child. Never the less, a pretty face had never phased Sephiroth to the point of distraction before.

Cloud stirred and started awake, opened his eyes and sat up, instantly alert. The crackling warmth and aroma of wood burning permeated his senses, sending him into an immediate panic.

"You are safe."

The blond whipped his head around, surveying the grotto-like room, his gaze focusing on the man crouched at the stone hearth, placing another log onto the fire. He blanched, swallowing hard as he regarded the man in black warily. "Where am I," his voice a soft-spoken rasp, his throat felt as if it had been scoured with sandpaper.

Slowly rising to his feet, the tall figure stood, the only thing in the room brighter than the flames dancing in the dark were the man's intense, jade-green eyes. Graceful strands of long hair the color of moonlight framed the sides of his face. The uniform he wore was just as Cloud had remembered when he first thought this man was merely a figment of his imagination: midnight leather from the high collar of his long coat, to the tips of his nimble fingers, down the stretch of his legs, to the boots on his feet. The silver metal that accented his shoulders and belts gleamed brilliantly in the firelight. Like the crimson warrior who saved him from the horde of mutants, this man also emanated a mesmerizing presence that stimulated both fear and awe. Yet, there was something more elegant in his manner, something bewitching and mesmeric.

"You are under the mountain range that encompasses the Icicle Area of the Northern Continent, approximately 2096.6 miles northwest of what was once known as Midgar."

Cloud's heart thudded as his stomach churned.

Sephiroth frowned at the boy with one brow slightly raised, noticing the anxiety building as the blond's hands clenched, fisting the quilt that covered him. "Do you have a name? Mine is Sephiroth."

Gazing sideways, Cloud kept quiet. He tried to properly read this man. He did not feel threatened in any way, but he did not feel as safe as the man claimed he was. _"Sephiroth…"_ Cloud murmured to himself, his voice hushed and slow-paced, the man's name rolling off his tongue in a manner that made his heart stammer and his breath hitch. "Sephiroth? _The_ Sephiroth? As in, the General of ShinRa's army?"

" _Former_ General," Sephiroth quickly corrected. "I am no longer affiliated with ShinRa. They are to me, as well as to most, my enemy."

Cloud blinked at him, his blue eyes widening.

"I take it you've heard of me."

Cloud slowly nodded, the frigid fretfulness of his expression warming into boyish awe. "Yeah, me and the rest of the world. I once dreamt of becoming a SOLDIER."

"Why didn't you?"

"My parents," Cloud sighed. "They thought if I joined, ShinRa would brainwash me and turn me against them."

Sephiroth nodded. "They we right to think so."

A cold shudder jolted Cloud back to the here and now. "You're the one who's been watching me."

Surprised at how fast he connected the pieces, Sephiroth confirmed, "Yes."

"Why?" Cloud's tone now less awed and more daring.

Sephiroth couldn't deny the slight tension he felt in the pit of his stomach right now. Locking onto the piercing blue eyes defiantly narrowing at him, the silver-haired man could feel an alluring, hostile energy emanating from the blond - a raging ball of spitfire ready to combust, despite his small, soft and lithe shape. The young man was still just as wild and untamed as he was fighting for his life within the rot of the world. Sephiroth found himself oddly enjoying the Gordian knot that is the Golden Child.

A loud _pop_ and the shifting of logs in the fire broke Sephiroth's reverie. He then turned and walked toward a small wooden table with a single ladder-back chair in the corner of the room, where a huge book bound in gold-ornamented black leather lay. He then sat down and opened the tome at a marked page. "This is the holy book of the Cetra. In it, all the prophecies of the Ancients have been set down, so that we may follow their teachings and fulfill the destinies. There is a prophecy that must now come to pass, and I believe you are the one spoken of."

Cloud felt his body grow cold, as if the heat of the hearth now burned with flames of ice. His eyelids suddenly heavy, he briefly closed them as a gentle, silvery voice called out to him, her words of warning a rapturous melody...

 _Do not become prey to his guile, beautiful one... The blade of deceit is this man's true weapon... You are **my** Golden Child..._

Immediately, Cloud shook his head. His brows furrowed as he wrapped the quilt tighter around him, his body shivering from the anomalous cold that took hold of him. _"Golden Child..."_ the words breathed enigmatically from his mouth in a tendril of icy mist, frozen crystals formed in mid-air, then quickly liquefied and vanished.


End file.
